Perfect Match
by Dazzlious
Summary: Turning thirty and being divorced has left Hermione feeling fragile and unloved. Perhaps the dating agency can help her to find her perfect match...


_Authors Note: __I'd like to thank my lovely beta Mamacita for her sterling work as ever. I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other characters from JK Rowling's fantastic books or films, I'm just borrowing and playing with them for a little while and get no monetary reward for doing so._

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I looked at myself in the mirror for the final time before leaving the bedroom. I had made an extra effort with my outfit this evening, as it looked to be a special night. The invitation had said the party was a fancy-dress masquerade, but the instructions were implicit: you should be completely unrecognisable until you finally removed your mask. I will admit it left me a little nervous.

Now, I have to be honest here and say the party was more of a speed-dating type of thing than a party with friends. Having turned thirty and found myself still single—or should I say single again—I had decided to do something about it, and a party had initially seemed like an interesting way to spend the evening. It was an informal chance to get to know others in my situation with no expectations or strings attached. And if it was terrible I could leave at any time.

I had been a little surprised that this Muggle phenomenon had reached the wizarding world. From my experience almost everyone I knew had met their significant others at school; generally Hogwarts, of course, although a few like Bill Weasley had made marriages with those from other international schools. But apparently I wasn't the only one having trouble finding a relationship. There were several places now offering dating opportunities, but I'd had a sudden panic at finding myself amid a room full of people from school who I'd never got on with and had no desire to date even if I had. That would be depressing in the extreme and a touch embarrassing, too; after all, everyone had expected Ron and me to be like all those other witches and wizards and be happily married forever, just like Harry and Ginny were. Unfortunately, it hadn't worked out that way for us and so here I was.

Eventually I had taken the step of using a place that offered both Muggle and wizarding contacts. It was more expensive than the others and the magic had to be suppressed as Muggles were involved, but I figured the chance of meeting someone I was interested in after spending the evening with people I didn't know was higher and worth the extra money. The invitation to the party had arrived by owl a week before and I'd spent the time since then planning my outfit carefully. Although I couldn't see why it was important to be quite so anonymous—after all, it was hardly likely there would be many if any people I knew there—I had taken the words to heart.

The main thing I had to disguise was my hair. It had always been bushy ever since I was a child, and growing up hadn't tamed it much. Most of the time I either left it as it was or tied it back in a tight bun for work, but for the party I was going to work miracles, the sort of miracle I hadn't achieved since the Yule Ball back in the fourth year of school—oh, or my wedding. Remembering the wedding depressed me a bit and so I set to work, designing my outfit with care. I wanted it to be alluring and attractive without being overly tarty. Tarty isn't my style, unlike some people I can think of.

Now here I was, ready to go, and I was really pleased with the result, especially as I'd spent a long time changing my mind again and again about going. I was definitely going. No, really—definitely.

I had taken inspiration from my favourite books, the Regency Muggle romances of Jane Austen et al., and was dressed in a pale turquoise watered silk ball gown of the style that would have been popular at the time. This was a flattering look for me with my large chest, the empire waistline starting just below the bust and flaring out, the low, round neck allowing me to show a decent amount of cleavage without being indecent. My hair had been teased to match with soft ringlets framing my face. The only concession to modernity was my high-heeled pumps, but even they were styled as the soft slippers of the time would have been. I checked my makeup—natural looking, of course; I don't really go for the siren look, although I had chosen to wear coloured contact lenses that almost matched the blue of my dress. Satisfied with what I saw, I grabbed my handbag, cloak, and the beautiful feather- and jewel-encrusted mask I was to wear that evening. I looked once again at the invitation, noting the address, and then with a pop I Disapparated.

I arrived outside a large house in what appeared to be a quiet square, somewhere in London; it looked similar to Grimmauld Place. There was no sign of a party taking place, but that wasn't surprising. These events weren't common knowledge and weren't trumpeted, to ensure that no one would try to gatecrash. Only the invited dating club members would be in attendance. I took one final look at the invitation to ensure I was at the right place; then, tying my mask over my face, I walked towards the dark house. A few seconds later I was knocking at the door, using the large brass lion's head knocker. Shortly after, the door opened and I was admitted into a long, thin hallway richly decorated, painted in a dark, luxurious red with fake fluttering candle lamps in sconces at various points along it. I could hear the noise of conversation and music coming from a dimly lit room to the right. At least I wasn't the only one here. At the far end was a table, behind which sat a young woman dressed in a toga with a black velvet mask in the style of a cat. She smiled as I walked towards her and gave her my invitation.

"Good evening, Miss Granger…Hermione. It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Jenny."

Her voice was pleasant and she clicked her fingers as she spoke. A moment later an old man dressed like a butler appeared from the shadows to take my cloak. He disappeared as quickly and silently as he'd appeared.

"What a beautiful outfit," Jenny said, and I could tell she was being sincere. "The colour of that dress is gorgeous, and I love your mask."

"Thank you," I replied, pleased at the compliment. It was nice to know it was worth the trouble I'd taken.

"This is your first time at one of these parties, isn't it?" Jenny asked.

"Yes, and I'm a bit nervous actually," I admitted, although in truth now I was there I felt happier I was wearing a mask than not wearing one. At least it gave me anonymity and would hopefully help to bolster my confidence a little once I had to interact with prospective partners.

"There's no need to be." She smiled. "Everyone's very friendly and polite, and we never have any trouble at our parties."

"I have to admit I'm not quite sure how it works," I said quietly. "I mean, I understand that I talk to people, but…."

Jenny laughed—one of those delightful little tinkling laughs that Ron so appreciated, I thought a little sourly. I didn't laugh like that; maybe if I had, he and I would still be together. But of course that was stupid. Ron and I hadn't split up because of my laugh.

"Obviously these parties can be a bit daunting," Jenny said sympathetically, "so we try to help and make it more fun for everyone." She looked down at the table briefly, picked something up, and with another smile handed it to me. It was an exquisite brooch in silver and enamel, a red rose twined about with green vines, and a card bearing the same picture. Or more accurately, it was half a card.

"We've paired you with the person on our books who fits you most closely; your perfect match, in fact," Jenny explained happily. "He has the other half of the card and an identical brooch. All you need to do is find him. You might get lucky and spot him straight away, although chatting to others to see if they've talked to him will help to break the ice a little, especially if you're not used to this sort of situation."

I looked at the card. I was expected to try to find the owner of the other half and he was my perfect match. Well, it could be fun, and at least I _had_ a perfect match—at least for the moment. That might change once we actually got talking to each other.

"He is here?" I asked, trying not to sound too desperate. I could see the table still held a few brooches and cards. It would be just my luck if my perfect guy didn't bother to turn up tonight.

Jenny nodded with that smile again. "Oh yes. He's definitely here. And he's gorgeous. You really don't need to worry."

"This works well, does it?" I asked, indicating the brooch as I pinned it to my dress just above my right breast.

"Oh yes. Actually, something like eighty percent of our members find their perfect match like this. That's why we make the parties masked. It gives people a chance to really get to know each other for who they are without being distracted by looks and stuff."

I understood why that could be good but also gathered the inference was that most of the clientele weren't all that attractive. I wondered if I fit into that category. I'd always worried about what I looked like. As I said, I had bushy hair, and in my early years at school I'd had huge front teeth and an overbite as well, which made me look a bit like a beaver. A miscast spell had given me the chance to put the teeth right with magic, something my dentist parents had frowned at but finally accepted, but I knew I wasn't beautiful by any stretch of the imagination. And of course there had always been those who were happy to remind me of it. Draco Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins were forever taking the piss out of me, but I'd always tried to pretend it didn't bother me. Of course, it didn't help that Ron and Harry didn't even seem to realise I was a girl—especially Ron, who I'd been so in love with for years. When he'd finally realised and asked me out I'd almost wept for joy, stupid little idiot that I was.

I thought I'd improved as I'd aged, but as I was still rather over-sensitive and definitely suffering from low self-esteem after my divorce, paranoia began to set in. Now I wished I'd never come here tonight, that I'd stayed home and done some reading rather than setting myself up for embarrassment and disappointment. Although eighty percent met their matches the first time out, twenty percent didn't. Would I be one of those? Would I be destined to come to party after party until Jenny finally admitted there was no one left for me to match with?

She must have seen or felt my sudden mood swing, and being the true professional she was, she tried to turn it around.

"Don't worry, Hermione," she said. "Most of those who don't get matched immediately aren't really looking seriously; they're just here to have some fun."

Seeming to realise that hadn't helped and I was now wondering if my match was just looking for _fun_, she added quickly, "Your match really is perfect for you and he _is_ looking seriously for a relationship. And he really is gorgeous, too. You'll make a lovely couple." She smiled, hoping she'd convinced me.

I was still on the verge of backing out but forced myself to smile back. "Well, I suppose I can stay for a little while at least," I said, hoping I sounded a little more cheerful than I felt. "Talk to a few people…."

"That's the spirit," Jenny said kindly. "Go and find your match, Hermione." She smiled again. "You'll see."

At that moment there was another knock on the outer door. Ignoring whoever was arriving, I turned and walked towards the door of the room where the party was taking place.

There were more people in there than I'd expected, and the conversation was louder, as I walked through the room. Liveried waiters bearing trays of wine and canapés circulated about the room, and I stopped to take a glass before wandering around and admiring the outfits. Some people had really gone to town; others I wasn't sure met the dress code, although would anyone really have recognised me if I'd turned up in just sexy underwear and stockings? Not that I ever would have done that, of course.

Everyone seemed to be conversing and I didn't want to break into a conversation; it seemed rude and presumptuous. However, I had only been there for a couple of minutes when a man dressed, as far as I could tell, as Napoleon Bonaparte—obviously Muggle, I was sure no wizard would have known about Napoleon—had come to join me. A glance at his brooch, a pretty filigree hourglass filled with blue sand, was enough to tell me he wasn't my match. I was strangely glad of it, as he had Napoleon's short stature; although I hate to admit it, I'm not keen on short men.

He was pleasant enough, though, and we talked for a while, each promising to alert the other if we came across either's match. By the time I grabbed my third glass of wine from a passing waiter I had talked to half a dozen men: a cowboy, Merlin, a Scotsman in a kilt and bright red wig, which freaked me out a little for obvious reasons, and some weird-looking ghoul-type creature, along with two vampires, one of whom I wasn't entirely convinced wasn't a real vampire. I'd also chatted to four women: Cleopatra, Marilyn Monroe, a gypsy, and finally a female vampire, who told me she'd spoken to my man—although rather unsportingly, I thought, she refused to tell me what he was wearing. She confirmed that he seemed gorgeous, seemed disappointed that he wasn't her match, and asked me to let her know if I turned out to not be interested in him. I laughed and agreed.

By this time I had entered another room where dancing was taking place. Interestingly, rather than the usual disco music I had expected, it was more refined. Quadrilles and waltzes were the order of the day, presumably to fit in with the masked ball theme, and it made me, in my Jane Austen persona, feel right at home. I had moved just inside the door, intending to find a seat, when Ronald MacDonald, another Muggle I guessed, asked me to dance. I sportingly agreed and took to the floor, and it was during the quadrille that I got the first glimpse of my match.

Of course, I didn't realise that was who he was. Further down the line I had spotted him originally because he reminded me of someone. Someone I hadn't seen since I was eighteen, someone who had died during the War. The shock of it hit me like a sucker punch to the gut, but soon we were carried away in different directions by the dancing and I lost sight of him. I needed to see him again, needed to see if his outfit was who I'd thought it was. Once the dance was over I thanked Ronald for his time, and grabbing another drink I began to search for my mystery man in earnest. It was stupid. I knew I should be concentrating on finding my match, but the man had intrigued me and I needed to know if he really was dressed as my ex-Potions Master, Severus Snape.

Although Harry and Ron had both hated Snape with a vengeance at school, even having trouble with coming to terms with the fact that he'd been a hero and had helped Harry considerably in his battle against Voldemort, I had harboured a bit of a crush on the snarky Potions Master—like most of the girls at Hogwarts, I suspect. Although by turns taciturn and sarcastic and certainly not the most handsome of men, he always dressed immaculately in old-style frock coats and robes of the deepest ebony. To me, at least in my Regency romance novel way, he had appealed just as someone like Heathcliff might. That he was brooding and secretive only added to his dubious charm, and I'm sure he had been the subject of many a schoolgirl fantasy. When he had died so tragically by Voldemort's hand, I along with many others had been devastated. Although to be fair, there was never any chance of us being a couple; that was all just pure fantasy on my part and I suspect, knowing the type of man Snape was, he would have been completely horrified had he known he was the subject of lust for all those schoolgirls.

The man in the dancing party had reminded me so strongly of Snape that I wondered if it was a fluke that he just happened to have chosen such a striking look, or whether he had indeed copied Snape's style and was therefore an ex-student from Hogwarts. After fifteen minutes of searching I was beginning to get frustrated. It was almost as if the man had disappeared, or was hiding from me on purpose. Discussion with others didn't get me anywhere. Anyone who had noticed or talked to him had no idea where he'd gone. Finally I made my way back towards the dancing room, hoping he'd eventually find his way back there, too.

I had just stopped for my fourth—or was it fifth?—glass of wine when he appeared at the far side of the room. He seemed to be looking for someone—his match, I guessed—but he'd have to wait a little longer for that. I needed to speak to him first. I was stuck in the middle of quite a crowd and it made getting across the room tricky, especially without dancing. Before I got there I saw him turn away and leave the room, heading outside through the large French windows.

_Please don't find her just yet_, I thought desperately to myself as I followed across the room, stopping for a moment just inside the doors. Suddenly I felt stupid pursuing this man. What was I going to say to him that wouldn't make me seem like some strange stalker—or a freak, anyway? I decided to step outside as if merely taking some fresh air and see whether he spoke to me. That way I could hopefully study his clothes and manner further without making a complete prat of myself.

As I stepped through the door I realised he had his back to me, leaving me no opportunity to check out his clothes. He was leaning over the balustrade, apparently looking down into the garden. I also realised that there were few other people out there, and those seemed to be engaged in getting to know each other rather more intimately than was possible in the crowded room. Not wanting mystery-man to get the wrong idea, I turned to go back inside. But before I reached the door he turned around, saw me, and quickly made his way over, blocking my exit.

Up close, I realised he actually looked only vaguely like Snape. Although he wore a frock coat, the material was far more luxurious than Snape would ever have worn and it wasn't black, it was dark green velvet. There was also the hint of a white silk shirt at the collar and cuffs, definitely not Snapeish. He would have worn cotton. This man's long hair, tied back in a queue, wasn't black either, although it was dark; and though his dark eyes glittered like Snape's, he didn't have the beak-like nose of the Professor. It seemed that the outfit was indeed a fluke, more Mr Darcy than Heathcliff, and he was taller and more muscular than Snape had been, too. The matching dark green velvet mask he wore gave him a sensual air that made my stomach somersault.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," he said. His voice was deep and melodious and sent a shiver straight down my spine.

I was about to reply, asking why he was looking for me, when I understood. Pinned to his right breast was the rose and vine brooch. Before I could say anything he pulled the missing half of my card from his pocket.

"I believe I've just found my match," he said delightedly, with a smile that was so dazzling it left me speechless. "And I think it would be safe to say I'm the luckiest man at the party."

My brain was still trying to process the fact that this gorgeous—and yes, he really was gorgeous—man was my match. Surely there had to be some mistake. Once again I was glad I was wearing the mask. Perhaps we would have a chance to get to know each other better before he saw me and was disappointed. Suddenly I realised I never should have worn such a beautiful outfit. It gave a false impression.

He didn't seem to be bothered that I hadn't yet spoken. He took my hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it gently. "Shy, I see," he said with amusement, that deeply dark voice washing over me again. "Perhaps we should have a dance or two to get you used to me?"

I nodded, still not sure I'd be able to speak without my voice squeaking or something. I was almost on the verge of hyperventilating as it was.

Still holding my hand, he led me back into the dancing room and soon we had taken our place for a cotillion. I was impressed with his knowledge of the dance; he was either a wizard or a professional dancer. By the time we had finished with that dance and the following quadrille, half an hour had passed and I finally felt I could talk to him. But then the waltzing started and I was too busy trying to concentrate on my feet to talk. Fortunately my partner didn't seem to mind the silence, although occasionally he would whisper words like "exquisite" and "beautiful" into my hair, making my skin tingle with excitement.

By the time the waltz had finished he was holding me considerably tighter than he strictly should for the dance and showed no sign of letting go. When we stopped dancing he bent towards me and his lips brushed mine, gently at first but then with a force I couldn't resist. Almost automatically I wrapped my arms around him in response, returning the kiss with equal vigour, completely forgetting that I was kissing a total stranger in the middle of the dance floor in a crowded party.

"Perhaps we should go somewhere a little more private," he suggested with amusement as the kiss ended.

My lips were tingling and I was about ready to agree to anything just as long as he didn't leave me. He took my hand once more and we walked through the house, stopping to pick up a glass of wine for each of us although I was so lightheaded from being with him—and possibly, if I'm being honest, from the quantity of wine I had already consumed—I knew I didn't need any more alcohol. Finally we found a relatively empty area of the house to talk and we sat. He started, of course—because I still wasn't speaking—by saying he didn't want to know too much about me to begin with, that he wanted to learn by being with me. I sort of understood what he meant. I wanted to know who he was, but at the same time I liked the air of mystery and the excitement of not knowing. We kept our masks on, not yet ready to remove that layer of secrecy.

So we talked. His conversation soon revealed that he was definitely a wizard, which made me happier than I'd expected for some reason I couldn't quite pin down. We talked about strange things: vaguely about work, discovering we both worked for the Ministry although that wasn't too much of a surprise, thousands of people did. We didn't reveal our jobs, though; that was too intimate for the current conversation. We talked about Quidditch and I discovered he was a fan of the same team as Ron and Harry, the Chudley Cannons. We didn't talk about relationships, past or present. I was unwilling to open myself up quite that much to a stranger, especially with the whole relationship issue still being so raw. The small talk was interesting, though, and the masks helped me to relax. Soon we had spent almost another couple of hours talking, and kissing, too. There was quite a lot of kissing.

Eventually I stifled a small yawn. I wasn't bored but rather tired; the wine and the late night were finally catching up with me.

"Am I boring you?" he asked with amusement.

I looked mortified. "No, I'm really sorry. It's just getting late and I'm tired."

He looked at his watch. It was almost one o'clock in the morning. "I should take you home," he said seriously. "May I escort you?"

I almost pointed out that I would be taking him, as he had no idea where I lived, but although I was tired I didn't want to leave him just yet, and I definitely didn't want to leave him at the party where he could be snapped up by someone else. The idea of a goodnight kiss was tempting, as was the probability of him removing his mask so I could finally see what I knew was going to be a beautiful face, although I was still dreading him seeing me.

"Of course," I said with a smile and waited as he summoned the old butler to collect our cloaks.

Jenny wasn't at the table when we left. She had obviously gone or was at the party. As we walked hand in hand to the door, I felt happier than I had in months. Once outside, we checked to make sure we weren't being watched before wrapping our arms around each other once more. With a pop, we Disapparated.

We Apparated into my lounge, and I was glad I'd taken the time earlier in the day to clear up. I'm a methodical and logical person, but tidy I'm not. Fortunately, the clothes that were usually strewn around the flat were put away in closets and drawers, and the piles of paperwork that seemed to cover every available surface had been stacked neatly down the side of the sofa or on the coffee table.

"Would you like a coffee?" I asked as we pulled apart from each other.

"I thought you were tired," he said, that beautiful, dark voice showing a trace of concern.

"I'm sure I can stay awake long enough for a coffee." I smiled to show him I was happy to stay up for a little while longer.

He grinned. "All right, then, you've twisted my arm into staying…although is there any chance of tea?"

I left him to make himself comfortable on my sofa whilst I dashed to the kitchen to make the tea. I'm not the most domestic person in the world, either, but tea I could just about manage. While I waited for the kettle to boil, I thought to myself how rash I'd been. I'd invited a complete stranger, whose name I didn't even know—whose face I hadn't even seen, come to that—into my home without letting anyone know what I was doing. For all I knew he could be a rapist or a murderer and I'd willingly allowed him in here and was making him tea, too. But although we'd only just met, I felt as if I'd known him for years...and the kisses, well, the kisses alone were enough to have me trusting him. I just hoped I was right.

Of course, inviting him here had possibly given him another signal, one I hadn't considered before. As attractive as he was, I didn't intend to spend the night with him. I'm just not that type of girl. I wondered if that was what he was expecting. But even as I tried to convince myself he wouldn't be staying, I knew my arousal for him wanted differently. The sexual frustration that had been building up inside me in the long months since the end of my marriage was almost at fever pitch with his tender kisses, and I wanted nothing more than to undo the buttons of that wonderful frock coat and then of the soft silk shirt and run my hands over his muscular chest. What I wanted him to do to me in return made me horny just thinking about it, and I had to work hard to push the thoughts of him and me rolling around my bed together out of my fevered brain.

Mugs in hand, I re-entered the lounge and passed him one. I put mine on the coffee table to cool a little. I noticed that he followed suit.

"Do you think it's time for introductions?" I asked nervously. I very much wanted to see the man behind the mask, but I still wasn't sure I wanted him to see me in case he was disappointed. The last thing I needed was him running away from me, screaming in horror. But in truth, the masks were becoming something of an annoyance now. We'd known each other for about three or four hours, surely enough time to reveal our true selves?

He smiled that dazzling smile again. "Let's take our masks off first and then we can get to know each other better," he said. "I'm so looking forward to seeing you properly. How about we both remove them at the same time?"

I was still standing and he rose to face me. This was it, the moment of truth, when I'd find out if he really was as gorgeous as he seemed, and also whether I would scare him away. I reached back and untied my mask, pulling it away from my face at the same instant that he removed his. And then I gaped in astonishment.

The removal of his mask removed a glamour he had cast on himself; his disguise was completely removed. He was still in that alluring frock coat and shirt, but now his long hair was almost white it was so blond, and his dark eyes were pale, icy grey.

"Malfoy?" I asked quietly, my voice just above a whisper.

He, of course, had seen me revealed as well, although with my newly gorgeous hair. I hadn't cast a glamour on that, just spent lots of time on taming it with good old Sleakeasy's lotion.

"Granger?" He sounded just as surprised as me.

For a moment we just continued looking at each other in amazement. I could feel my brain whirring. I had just spent the last few hours kissing Draco Malfoy, my worst enemy from school, and scarily, I'd loved every minute. But surely this was wrong, wasn't it? Wrong on every level.

He moved a step closer and his hand reached out to touch my face, stroking my cheek as his thumb traced over my top lip. His smile was still dazzling, nothing like the smirk I remembered from school.

"Perfect!" he said quietly and calmly. I noticed his voice had changed slightly, the very deep timbre had obviously been part of the glamour, but it still sent a shiver straight down my spine and caused goosebumps all over my body. "It really is you," he added, and then pulled me to him for a kiss.

My brain was trying to remind me sensibly that this was Draco Malfoy, the boy who had made my school life a living hell, the boy who had called me foul names and taken the piss out of me mercilessly at every opportunity. But it didn't matter. His kiss was almost addictive and I sank into it, telling my brain to shut up. His hands ran through my hair as we kissed, seemingly entranced by the soft curls, and I couldn't help but press against him, enjoying the feel of his hard body against mine. Damn, he was even more gorgeous than he had been at school. Aging hadn't done him any harm, either.

"I've wanted you for so long," he admitted, his voice so seductive I thought I was going to drown in it. "So many years and finally…." His mouth caught mine again as he held me tightly in his arms. "Oh, Hermione…" he whispered as we looked at each other intently, still holding tight as if scared to let go. Then he frowned slightly. "Why are your eyes blue?"

I was surprised for a moment, then remembered the lenses. "They're contact lenses," I said. "They match my dress."

He continued to look for a moment. "I prefer your natural eye colour. I've always thought your eyes are beautiful, that lovely warm brown shot through with flecks of gold."

I felt my heartbeat quicken as I realised he knew what colour eyes I had. That was a complete surprise.

"Do you want me to take them out?" I asked softly.

"Please," he said. "I want to see you properly. His hand was back on my hair.

"Please don't ask me to make that bushy again," I pleaded half-jokingly. "It took me hours to get it looking like this."

"It does look beautiful like that, although bushy is good, too." He winked.

He released me and I disappeared quickly into the bathroom to remove the contact lenses. I returned a few minutes later, still not sure how I felt about being perfectly matched with Draco Malfoy. I knew what Harry and Ron would say…then I thought to myself, _Ron can get stuffed_. He no longer had any say in anything to do with me or my life. I smiled at Draco as I joined him on the sofa, picking up my tea and drinking.

"I still can't believe I got matched with you," he said happily. "I told you I was the luckiest guy at the party."

I couldn't believe he was being so pleasant. I think the nicest thing he'd ever said to me before tonight was to call me by my surname rather than Mudblood.

"I have to admit I'm having trouble with it, too," I said honestly.

"It's fantastic," he said eagerly. "I really have been in love with you for so long."

My eyes narrowed at this comment and I gave a sharp bark of laughter. That wasn't true. Was he hoping I'd fall for it and take him to bed? Well, that definitely wasn't happening. My treacherous brain reminded me I'd been only too happy to consider it before I knew it was Draco, and my even more treacherous body was reminding me I hadn't had sex for ages and the man in front of me was delicious. Whatever had happened between us in the past could be ignored for tonight, couldn't it?

Ignoring both my body and my brain, I said sarcastically, "Hmmm, I remember how much you fancied me at school, Draco. I remember all those nice names you used to call me." He winced at that and looked a touch embarrassed, which surprised me. Did he really regret what he'd done to me at school, or was he still trying to play me?

"You are aware of my circumstances," he said stiffly after taking a sip of his tea. "You'll remember my father was a little over-zealous in his pure-blood fanaticism."

"As were you," I pointed out. "And I think that might be understating it a bit. You took every opportunity to point out how I didn't fit in with your world view."

He laughed ruefully. "True enough. Of course, I had no choice. That was the way I'd been brought up and my father would have had a fit if he'd known for sure just how much I fancied you. I think he's always had a sneaking suspicion, but of course I always tried to keep it hidden from him."

"From me, too," I said sceptically. "You expect me to believe that all the times you were calling me foul names and taking the piss out of me, you were really lusting after me?"

"Yes." His face was set, showing no sign of being anything other than truthful.

"Yeah, right," I muttered as I took another sip of my tea.

"The first day of school," he said. "You and your bushy hair and the way you just took over, organising everyone. You were a bit bossy, but I rather liked your spirit. Unfortunately, then I found out you were Muggleborn and it put rather a dampener on things, but I think I was already in love with you, or at least whatever those feelings are you have at that age. And then you started hanging around with those prats. That really pissed me off."

"They're not prats!" I said hotly, defending my best friend, but then I thought about Ron and scowled. He was more than a prat.

Draco just chuckled as he watched my face. I guess he, just like everyone else in the wizarding world, knew about me and Ron. After all, we were still famous, even all these years after the war, and our divorce had made the front page of the newspapers.

"Weasley is," Draco announced after another sip of his tea. He sounded derisive. "Married to the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts, and he let you go."

I laughed bitterly. Let me go—that sounded so civilised compared to what had actually happened.

"I don't really want to talk about him," I said coldly. And I didn't. Even now, it still hurt too much.

Draco shrugged. "Fine, but you need to talk about it eventually, Hermione. You need to get it out of your system."

"And you'll help me with that, will you?" I asked archly.

"Of course. I'm happy to help you in any way you want," he said seductively. Now he _was_ smirking, that bloody annoying smirk I remembered so well.

"Stop smirking," I said, suddenly annoyed.

He put his mug down again and moved closer to me. "I think I'd like to get back to the kissing and stuff," he said seriously.

"I think you should go, Draco," I replied quickly, moving back before he could get hold of me again.

He looked disappointed. "You don't really want me to," he said shrewdly. "You're trying to pretend you don't want this when I know you want it as much as I do."

"Look, Draco, even if there weren't this history between us I'd still be chucking you out," I said honestly. "I'm really not a one-night-stand type of girl."

"Who said anything about one night?" Draco asked. He sounded confused. "I was thinking we could get married."

I snorted with laughter at that. "Married? You're kidding, right?"

"Why? I'm in love with you and we're the perfect match—the dating agency said so. And there's definitely a spark between us, you have to admit that." He gave me that dazzling smile which made my heart beat faster again. "And you need some affection and romance…and sex, of course." He winked.

Damn. He was right. I did need those things. After all, that was why I'd joined the dating agency in the first place, wasn't it? I just hadn't expected the person to give me those things to be Draco Malfoy. But he was gorgeous. He always had been handsome, even at school, and from what I'd learnt of him through the evening he'd definitely changed since Hogwarts, becoming far less arrogant and a much nicer person. And he kissed so well.

His hand was back on my hair, holding the back of my head as his face moved towards me. His lips captured mine and he gently sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, causing me to give a small whimper of desire. I tried halfheartedly to pull away, but I didn't really want to. I wanted to kiss him again, and soon we were wrapped in each other's arms once more.

"Let's go to bed, Hermione," Draco whispered to me during a break in the kissing. "As lovely as it is, I really want to see you out of that dress."

I, of course, was fantasising again about undoing all those buttons.

"Did you dress like Snape on purpose?" I asked suddenly.

"I didn't realise that I had. Maybe subconsciously," he replied with a small frown. "To be honest, I just liked the outfit."

"I do love your frock coat," I admitted. I ran my hands down the buttons, enjoying the feel of the sensual velvet beneath my fingers. It was so tempting to undo them, but if I did, then I was giving in.

"Please, Hermione…."

I was surprised. I'd never heard Draco plead before and certainly wouldn't have expected it in relation to me. I was having huge problems keeping my libido under control already, and the knowledge that he desired me that much, even if it was just for one night, was too much. I needed to be loved and cherished. I needed someone to tell me how much he wanted me. I needed to get over Ron—and Draco was right, he could help me with that. The time had come for me to make the decision that would change my life forever—would change me forever, although I didn't yet know whether it would be for better or worse. My heart was thumping as I considered how reckless I was being; but then, hadn't this whole evening been reckless?

"Yes," I said quietly in his ear as I wrapped my arms around his neck.

I heard Draco give a small sigh of relief at my words. Then immediately, without even kissing me again, he scooped me up into his arms.

"Where do I go?" he asked urgently, clearly wanting to get me to the bed before I changed my mind.

And so I guided him towards my bedroom, a beaming smile on my face. Amazingly, I didn't feel cheap, guilty, or even nervous about what we were about to do. I had made my decision and I knew for sure there was no way I would be changing my mind.

Draco Malfoy would be mine—at least for tonight.


End file.
